


Off Beat Ostinato

by leporicide



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Demonic Possession, Drug Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rock and Roll, Satanic imagery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporicide/pseuds/leporicide
Summary: Ryo shows up in Akira's life, proposing he quit his job, pick up his guitar, get possessed by a powerful demon, and become the rock star he was always meant to be.One of these things is not like the other.





	Off Beat Ostinato

**Author's Note:**

> blame @saintdri i hate them so goddamn much.  
> mind the rating and the tags, it will get messy

Akira Fudo struggles to remember how he got here.

There’s tea, still steaming in the pot on the table, two small cups filled to the brim and not a single one touched. White noise is coming from the radio in his kitchen, something he plays in the morning to finally push him into the realm of the living. The stray cat is here today, finding home on the balcony of his apartment, her tail swishing carelessly on the ledge, as if his life wasn’t burning around him a couple feet away.

“Um,” he starts looking at his guest. The man, pristine in white and dotted with color only on his eyes. A sharp blue and it reminds him not of the romance of sweeping oceans but the sleepiness of frozen lakes. “Ryo? I haven’t seen you in—in years.”

The stranger, _Ryo_ , smiles but there’s no immediate comfort drawn to Akira’s skin. If anything, he feels a shiver run up his spine on the perfect summer day. “Yes, though I’m a little hurt you didn’t recognize me.”

Akira wants to provide that there’s a lot of reasons he didn’t click the face to a name. One being that they haven’t seen each other in nearly ten years. The second being that it’s 6 AM in the morning, he works in two hours, and that Ryo stood at his door looking like he came from one of the countless magazine’s Miki owns of New York Fashion week. He’s gotten taller too, so there’s that.

“Sorry,” Akira laughs out, awkward and unsure of what to do. Not for the first time, he’s envious of the stray that sleeps wordlessly outside, only moving ever so slightly from the sun’s rays. “It’s just a surprise to see you. Last I heard, you were in South America.”

Ryo reaches down for the cup in front of him, picking it up in an almost refined manner, the only clue otherwise being how tightly he grips it, his fingers pushed harshly against the ceramic material. “I was,” he provides, uninterest in his own extravagant lifestyle. “I told you I was coming, but I believe you stopped sending me replies a year ago.”

“Oh!” Akira perks up, latching on to a conversation he has somewhat knowledge in. “My old apartment burned down.” Ryo’s eyes widened. “When I moved, I realized all our letters were missing and I had no way of contacting you. I’m surprised, Ryo,” Akira smiles, cheeks warming in genuine pleasure. “That you kept sending me letters. I was sure you were busy.”

Ryo coughs, placing the half empty tea cup down and bringing a hand to his throat. Concern crawls up Akira before he’s waved off when he begins to push himself up. “It’s nothing, wrong pipe. Anyway, yes. I’ve returned because I missed you, old friend. And…”

A small cassette materializes in Ryo’s hand, a little worn out with _AKIRA’S BIGGEST MISTAKE_ scrawled across a piece of tape. He recognizes the thing at a quicker speed than Ryo. “No—” he starts.

“Miki sent it to me. I’m surprised she was able to slip it past you.”

Mortification colors his face, burning red as he hangs his head in his hands. The tape was a small recording of him singing to her for her birthday, a stupid habit they’ve had since they were kids. He never expected her to record him and when she did, he definitely hadn’t expected it to land in Ryo’s hands, continents away. “Did you listen to it?” Akira asks, nervously picking at the fray of his shirt. He’s still in his sleepwear, the thorny design of the _Guns N’ Roses_ somehow embarrassing him further. He must look like a _massive tool—_

“Of course I did.”

_Of course he did, Ryo wouldn’t miss the chance to tease—_

“I loved it.” 

_Him._

“Excuse me?” Akira cringes at his tone, coming off harsher than he realized but it makes Ryo’s eyes light up, his lips curling into an impossibly wicked smirk.

“There it is, that’s the sound.”

“Ryo…?” Akira is unsure of where the conversation has taken them, stranded in the middle of a bopping waters as they stare at each other. A man with the world in his hand and a man who constantly asks for directions.

Ryo uncrosses his legs, a movement startling him, and leans forward, placing the cassette gingerly on the table. He’s looking up at Akira like the answer to everything is written on his face, plain as day and mesmerizing. If he hadn’t used up all the blushing he could do today, he certainly has now.

“Quit your job, Akira. You’re going into music.”

 _“Excuse me_?”

“I’m serious,” Ryo says, his voice light against the quiet news broadcast seeping in from the kitchen. “I’ll rent out a recording studio, we’ll make a demo, get you heard by a couple names.”

Akira’s eyes are wide, unsure of where to look on Ryo’s face. He settles for his nose, the perfect slope, as if it was never touched, not even by his own fingers. “You know you sound a little…out there?”

Ryo waves him off, standing up. “It’s no surprise I know a few people. This could be very big for you.”

“Forgive my rudeness, but I’m not like _you_ , Ryo. I don’t do well in the limelight.”

There’s a silence that feels overbearing suddenly, even the radio stops and the cat hops off his balcony, ready to start her day. Ryo walks around the table, until his shoes appear in Akira’s down casted vision. Hands, colder than frost, cup his burning cheeks, nearly soothing as it slowly pulls his head up to look at the other. Blue eyes meet his and Akira sees an expression he hadn’t known he’s missed. It’s gentle, confident and makes the tension of his muscles melt away.

“Akira Fudo, mark my words. You’ll be incredible.”

Akira can’t find it in himself to do anything but nod, slowly as if he’s captivated by something too entrapped in intrigue. Ryo has grown up to be a monster. Especially when he smiles.

“Wonderful. Now quit your job at the supermarket. I have preparations to handle.”

Hands slip away from their home on his cheeks as Ryo makes his way to the door. Akira follows, enjoying the way that he feels a sudden strength in his step, a renewed confidence. The door is closed and soon, Akira is left alone in an apartment, news anchors laughing in the distance, with something unsettlingly pleasant resting at the bottom of his gut.

* * *

He didn’t quit his job.

Ryo is simply too reckless, he has the social status and the income to back such wild decisions but this job, Akira thinks as he scans the next customer’s items with a smile (they barely look at him), is paying his way through school. He can only afford night classes, no full-time education, but that hasn’t deterred him in the slightest. In fact, he’s slowly grown to like working here, where the customers look a few seconds shy of screaming at him and the music repeats the same five tracks everyday to the point where one of his coworkers drove a cart through the glass windows to make it stop. At least he gets a pretty discount.

He turned in a two-week notice instead.

The manager looked at the paper with disdain when he handed it in but other than that, no words were shared between them.

“That’ll be $10.23.”

The customer wordlessly pays and collects their items. Akira gives him a smile and turns to the next set, only to see a six-pack of beer, three bags of sour patch kids and a lighter. He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, smile already worming its way onto his face. “Wamu,” he greets.

Wamu grins back, dressed in his usual streetwear, sans the hat today. There’s no one behind him in line, the usual habit whenever people spot the large ink work on his body, dipping high into his neck. “Yo, Akira. How’s our devil doing?”

“You all still call me that?” he sighs, feigning exasperation as he slowly scans the items, giving them some time to catch up.

“Of course, you did it to yourself, that night at the karaoke bar.”

“I did it in confidence,” Akira hisses, glancing around despite no one in the vicinity giving them any attention.

Wamu tsks, bagging his items with a loose hanging smile. “The deed is done, live in your shame. Or relish in it, I suppose.”

Akira nods, ringing up the final item, accepting the bill from Wamu and making quick work of giving him change. Since no one seems to be waiting, he leans against the counter to continue their conversation. Wamu finds his place by the bagging section of the station. “You coming to the karaoke thing this week?”

“Miki was telling me about it.”

“Yeah, Kukun wants to celebrate since he’s passed his GRE. That bastard is going for his PhD. For _poetry_.”

Akira laughs, enjoying the way Wamu pretends to shake his fist angrily. “You sound more jealous than mad.”

“Fuck yeah, I am. He better share all his reading material with us, or we’re gonna have some poetic words, you feel me?”

“I feel you.” Akira’s mind stutters to the image of Ryo, dressed in white and stark against the backdrop of the city. “A really good friend of mine is in town, do you think it’ll be alright to have him join us.”

“If he’s a friend of yours, then he must be a pretty okay guy. The more the merrier.”

Akira feels like mentioning that Ryo is sometimes a bit of a handful but is denied as his manager makes his way directly towards them. “Well,” Wamu snags his bags, “That’s my cue to get the fuck outta here. See you later, Akira!”

He's gone when the manager finally makes his way over, staring daggers at Wamu’s retreating form. “Fudo,” Akira looks at him. “I’ve been informed to allow you to have your holiday bonus early. Make sure you pick up the check on your way out of your shift today, which ends at 4.”

It’s _July_.

“Sure,” Akira says because one doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Wonderful,” his manger grits out. “Make sure to tell Mr. Asuka that I followed through.”

Akira should have expected Ryo was up to something, he’s never had an early shift in the two years he’s worked here.

“It’s Dr. Asuka,” he ends up saying, like an idiot. He can feel his face heat up. The manager’s expression twists into something ugly and Akira shrinks into himself.

“My mistake.”

And soon, he’s alone at a register that a line finally begins to grow for and a weird sensation of being watched.

* * *

The check in his hands doesn’t feel real. Akira stares at it, walking home from work while the sun is still up. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his uniform before making a break for it, as if he feared that the manager would have a change of heart. He reaches his apartment with bewilderment still setting a spring in his step, unaware that the door was unlocked.

He pushes himself in to find Ryo waiting for him in his studio, lounging on the couch with a cat resting at his feet, licking lazily at a bowl of milk Akira assumes he set out for her. “Ryo!” he greets, removing his shoes before nearly jumping over the table to hug him. Ryo accepts him with open arms and it feels like they’re ten years old, waiting for Akira’s mother to arrive and whispering stories they heard the nuns talk about when they thought they were all sleeping. Ryo was never sleeping.

“Akira, how was work?”

“Amazing, especially after you called. How did you do that?”

Ryo smiles, releasing Akira so he can find place beside him on the couch, realizing that Ryo has brought food from the Korean place a couple blocks down. He loves this place, is sure that he has a menu tacked to his fridge in the kitchen. He quickly laughs out a ‘thanks’ before opening the paper bag and digging in.

“I told you I had it covered.”

“I never doubted you,” Akira says around a mouthful of food. Ryo leans back, pulling out something from a planner and slapping it on the table beside his dinner. “Wha?”

“Here is your new routine.”

“My new what?”

Ryo pulls the spoon out of Akira’s mouth, the smack of his lips echoing in the apartment, enough to make the cat meow at him. The sheet contains a daily schedule, bold red for _GYM_ and _STUDIO_ glaring at him, followed by little notes on eating right, vocal exercises, music to listen to, practice time. Even his night classes are carefully accounted for, leaving space to study and complete homework.

“You want to do this, right?”

Akira nods, looking at Ryo, who’s face is closer than he remembers. “Yeah.”

“You have to want it, Akira. This isn’t some magical Hollywood film. You have to _really_ want it.” Akira thinks what he really wants is Ryo to stay close, to not run off to another country that Akira can’t follow, to not make being close so unattainable. He thinks, with his name in blinding lights, Ryo would be interested enough to stay.

So, yes, he _wants_ this. “I do, Ryo. I really do.”

Ryo smiles, leaning back and effortlessly resting his hand around Akira’s shoulder. It feels familiar, a small memory of childish laughing and ugly secrets. Ugly secrets? What secrets—

“Perfect. You’re gonna need to get into shape.”

Akira’s eyebrows raise.

Ryo looks unimpressed. “I opened your fridge and found three boxes of Red Bull and a disgusting amount of cheese. Explain the cheese.”

“It looked good in the store.”

“Akira,” is all the warning he’s given before the spoon is being shoved right back into his mouth, clattering against his teeth. “Starting today, you’ll be taking better care of yourself. I’ll accompany you the first week to help you get settled into a routine. Music isn’t just about talent anymore.”

“Ish not?”

Ryo pulls out a magazine, some unknown brand to him that features artists in the industry. He’s debated buying it from the gas station but always finds something more important to blow his money on: like cheese.

He opens up to the rock section, band members in all black, grungy hairstyles and eye makeup, all of them frowning at the camera. “You have to look the part too. Think of all those classic bands you like.”

“I thought nobody liked that stuff anymore,” Akira mumbles.

“That means it’s perfect for reinventing. You’re the perfect image. Well, you _will_ be.”

Akira doesn’t respond, looking at the schedule. It doesn’t look so bad, he’s been meaning to make time to work out again. He was in track in high school and even if he was only subpar at it, being able to run again sets his nerves a blaze with excitement.

“It’s getting late. You should rest up, we’ll start Monday. Use the weekend to mentally prepare, I guess.”

“You’re leaving?” Akira asks, getting up to mirror Ryo’s movement, taking the trash to the bin in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I don’t want to keep you. You were always terrible with staying up late.”

“You just got back, right?” Akira looks up from the sink as Ryo reaches for the door. “Stay the night?”

An expression crosses Ryo’s face, something he cannot describe, mixed with uncertainty. It’s weird, to watch it on his face, blue eyes scanning the doorknob before pulling up to meet him.

“Sure. I’d be happy to.”

Akira’s eyes light up with fireworks and soon he’s jumping into another embrace, pulling Ryo against him, nearly in a headlock with his excitement. Ryo doesn’t protest, lets himself get pulled into his small room. It takes a while but eventually, Akira finds some comfy clothes that embarrass him less to lend to the other for sleepwear.

“ _Nightwish_ , really?” Ryo teases, taking the tank top and sweatpants and making quick work of getting cozy. His hair ruffles from it’s perfect placement and Akira’s heart skips a beat. He looks good in black.

“Yeah, really,” Akira mumbles, getting dressed himself. They do their night routine together, brushing their teeth, enduring the importance of skincare lecture from Ryo as he makes Akira use his facewash. He seemed to have packed up well in the bag the planner was in, almost as if he predicted he would spend the night. Now, Akira realizes, that sounds a lot more like the Ryo he knows.

They settle into bed rather easily, just as when they were kids. Akira doesn’t have a particularly large one but they make do. Ryo dips into the covers, wrapping himself as Akira stays right above it.

“Are you cold?” He asks, wondering if he should turn the heat, despite the sweltering of the summer heat making his skin damp with sweat. Ryo shakes his head, it’s rather cute peaking out of the blanket.

“I’m always cold. Don’t worry about it. You always ran too hot, like a furnace.”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, relaxing into the bed. He can feel the cold of the other’s toes through the covers between them.

“Stop saying that too. You’re gonna be a rockstar, you apologize to no one.”

A smile is shared between them. “I’ll always apologize to you.”

“Than you’re a foolish rockstar at that.”

The silence creeps up into the room, no radio white noise, no soft mewls, just their steady breathing.

“Akira, I have a rather silly question.”

“Ask away, Ryo!”

“You’re still a virgin, right?”

Time fucking stops.

“What…”

“Your letters,” Ryo continues, as if everything is perfectly normal. “You never mentioned a relationship and you don’t really seem the type for one-night stands.”

“I-I...” Akira stammers, unsure of himself yet again in a single day. He’s unaware of how his body unconsciously curls in on itself. “Yeah, I am.”

Ryo looks at him, eyes appearing from their confines of the sheets, glittering in the dark like frost. They crinkle as he smiles. “How very like you.”

“Shut up,” Akira hisses as the blond laughs at him, turning his body to they’re facing the opposite directions. Their backs are touching though, and it provides a comforting homeostasis between their temperatures. Akira falls asleep suddenly, without any preamble, to the steady sound of Ryo softly breathing next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> @bogboogie on twitter, all my friends are ryo apologists. lmao


End file.
